


(Not) Fade Away

by gryfndor_godess



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2503115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryfndor_godess/pseuds/gryfndor_godess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"So, Blue, where are we going?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not) Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brutti_ma_buoni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutti_ma_buoni/gifts).



“So, Blue, where are we going?  You know we’re not gonna find anyone else. No one was immune.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”  Wesley answers, sounding calm and even and sure, even now, after everything, so she doesn’t have to tell her pet to silence himself. If she believed in showing gratitude toward lesser beings, she would be grateful for that; she doesn’t like having to make Spike stop talking, even though he is irritating almost as often as he is not.

“Communications went down too soon. There could be others who survived.  If not in America, then in other countries.  The whole world can’t possibly be dead.”  It’s not the first time Wesley has argued this, but she doesn’t mind the repetition.

Her pet snorts.  “Careful, Percy.  Sure you want to say that when there isn’t wood around to knock on?”

“ _Spike_.” The growl in her other vampire’s voice no longer makes her hackles rise.

She wishes it did.

“What?  I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“Don’t!”  Her voice rings across the desert on either side, sharp and harsh. She doesn’t mean to lose her temper.  But he stops talking anyway.

“Is that a rest stop up there?  Tell me it’s not a mirage.”

Gunn usually sounds more hopeful than the others. With forcedness bordering on desperation sometimes, yes, but like something better _has_ to be around the next corner.  She doesn’t know why that is, but she appreciates it.

“It is a building,” she confirms.

“How can you be sure?”

She stiffens.

Not this one.

“Are you really qualified to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not?”

She doesn’t understand why the Vessel is here, too. _It_ isn’t wanted.  If she doesn’t acknowledge it, maybe it will go away.

Although history would not support that supposition.

Fortunately, Gunn doesn’t hear it.  “Maybe they haven’t been cleaned out yet!”

“Don’t think fossilized Mickey D’s will do you a lot of good, Charley boy.”

Spike again.  She’s relieved he didn’t stay quiet long.

“There’ll be vending machines.  Those should have some non-perishables.” They won’t have what Angel needs, but he isn’t pointing it out for his own sake.  “You’ll need to eat something.  You can’t keep going without food forever. Not even you.”

She doesn’t acknowledge him, even though the reprimand is gentle.

Silence for a few minutes, but not the bad kind.

“Maybe there’ll be other people there. Maybe they’ll know what’s going on.”

“There won’t be.  You know that, Charles.”

 _It_ again. Addressing one of _hers_.

Her temper flares, too hot to contain: “Do not speak to him!  You are not welcome here!”

For a second she thinks it worked, but then-

“You weren’t welcome when you stole my body.”

Spike chuckles.  “Walked right into that one, highness.”

She should never have acknowledged it. Now her pet- _he always catches on first, somehow, even if he doesn’t understand_ \- is laughing at her.  Laughing _with_ the Vessel.

It is unacceptable.

She tries firmness, regal and unyielding. “I want you to go away.”

The Vessel snickers.  “You want a lot of things.  But you’re not going to get them.”

“I am a god!  I always get my way!”  Her skin feels hot.  She hates this, how quickly the Vessel reduces her to shouting; it feels like the Vessel has won.

The Vessel never needs to be loud.  The Vessel is so quiet it’s almost hard to hear, but still impossible not to: “Was this your way?

She squeezes her eyes shut; she can’t help it.

“Illyria?”  Wesley’s voice, so full of concern, tugs them open again. She drinks him in, all the details she doesn’t want to forget: the color of his eyes, the crinkles in their corners, where the scruff grows on his cheeks.  The book in his hands doesn’t have a title.  She doesn’t know why he’s carrying it, but she likes that he is; he looks like before.

“He liked me better.”

From what she’d been told of the Vessel, she doesn’t think it used to be so spiteful. 

“He would’ve traded you for me in a heartbeat. They all would have.”

“Maybe we’ll find a car with gas!”  Gunn speeds up until he’s leading.

“Shotgun!”

“ _Spike_!”

“What?  Not my fault you’re slow on the uptake, Gramps.”

“Cars won’t help _you_ ,” the Vessel taunts.  “You never learned how to hotwire.”

She raises her voice, not to yell but to sound authoritative; to show the Vessel just how much she doesn’t care what it thinks.  “If we find a car, it will be easier to move east.”

They nod, agreeable.  All except-

“ _Please_.”

Her throat closes up.  It is the vessel’s fault; that is not the reaction of a god.

“I don’t want to go east.  I don’t want to go on.”

The demon’s skin is not the bright green it used to be; unlike the others, he looks sickly, cracked.  Like he shouldn’t be here anymore.

“Yes, you do.”  Her voice wobbles.  That, too, is not a godly reaction.

“No.  I don’t want to _be here_. I didn’t want to be there then-”

“Lorne, Lorne, sweetie, it’s okay, I’m here.” The Vessel’s voice is so gentle now it’s like it’s a completely different being.  Before she can stop it, the Vessel wraps an arm around the demon.

“Don’t touch him!  Don’t-”

They’re all staring at her now.

Lorne moans.  “This isn’t right.  This isn’t right.  I’m not supposed to _be here_!”

“It’s going to be okay,” the Vessel whispers. “You’re going to be okay. _You_ won’t be-” Hatred again as the Vessel looks at her.  “You know that.  You know they’re all d-”

“Stop!”

“What’s she on about?”  Spike’s staring between them, like they could possibly be of equal relevance.

“ _Everyone_ is dead.”

“I said stop!”

“Fred?”

 _No_. Wesley is looking at _it_ now.  Looking at the Vessel with confusion and fear and- _hope_.  Looking back at her like _she’s_ the imposter-

“I’m so sorry, my love.  I never wanted you to suffer.”

“Who’s suffering?” Spike demands.

Lorne moans again.

“Illyria?”  Gunn sounds so uncertain.  She can’t hear his hope anymore.

“Illyria.”  Angel’s isn’t a question; it’s full of pain, like he understands.

Gunn’s voice shakes.  “There won’t be anyone at the rest stop, will there?”

“No.  The Vessel sounds almost apologetic.

“Enough,” she tries.

Wesley’s staring at her; he looks betrayed.

“No,” the Vessel repeats, simply.

“Leave us alone!”

Unexpectedly, the Vessel laughs.  It makes her veins feel like they’re filled with ice, even though they’re in the desert.

“If you want me gone, you know what you have to do. Otherwise I’ll never leave _you_ alone. That’s the price for my body. So how do you like being a god now?  Is it worth it? Is it worth being the only one le-”

“GO AWAY!”

She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see it.

Opens them again, because she is a god, and she is not afraid of anything.

She is alone in the middle of the highway. Miles of empty desert extend on either side; there are no animals on the ground, no birds in the sky. She can’t remember the last time she saw a bird, even the vultures that used to feed on the dead.

In the distance is the building that might have cars she won’t be able to drive.  It might have food she should eat. 

It will have corpses.  Humans mostly.  Maybe demons and vampire dust as well.

The world around her is silent with death.

Illyria walks on, because that is the only thing left to do.

And she waits.  Sometimes the silence lasts minutes, but sometimes it lasts days. The latter is becoming more frequent.  She doesn’t like to think about what that means.

She wonders which details she won't remember next time, or if she'll even notice when they're gone.

 _(Memories are such fragile, fading things. Even, it turns out, for gods)_.

Eventually:

“So, Blue, where are we going?”


End file.
